Pretend
by Dryphter
Summary: It wasn't love, it was sex, and pretend. And pretend was just a pretty word for LIES.


**Oh boy, okay I'm not the greatest, I know, but I have to try. So here's my latest, "Pretend". There's more explaining at the bottom. And the usual, I do not own Death Note at all. (If I did, there'd be more Kira/L sex, XD !)**

_…Pretend…_

Everything was pretend – pretend names, pretend people, pretend smiles, and pretend 'love'. What _was _real love? The closest either of them had ever come to such a thing was purely physical, no thoughts, no emotions required, just the senses. But it was _here _-- tangled up and pressing against each other, no way to tell where one started and the other ended -- that they learned the most about 'love'.

L's body was cool, his fingers cold like ice in the dead of winter, but they were flexible and deft in the task of running wild and icy trails down Raito's fevered skin, (years of typing away at a keyboard no doubt the reason why he was so sure of their movements,) and no touch was ever wasted, each meant to bring either pleasure of pain for the other.

And when they met the heated skin of Raito's chest, (or back, or arms, clawing almost desperately, leaving little red lines, then massaging the pain away), it was such a chilling sensation, contradicting the heat of his bare flesh and running warm ripples from the base of his skull down to his groin and below.

And when Raito pressed _just so_ against L, their erections rubbing painfully, or when he toyed with the sensitive area of L's hip, (sucking on the protruding bone, running his tongue up to his belly-button, and back down to the base of his sex), L's toes would curl and his back would arch out of its usual slouch, his joints would turn to jelly making it impossible to do _anything_ but mouth a scream and focus on that damn tongue swirling hot wet patterns across his skin.

During sex, they were turned into feral beasts, nipping, licking, and sucking on every available inch of skin they could get their greedy, moist lips on. And everywhere their lips _weren't _occupying, their hands were.

When they kissed, it was a battle for dominance between their tongues, neither backing down nor winning, instead breaking apart with breathy gasps and throaty moans when the other pinched or groped somewhere _just_ right.

This game was different from their usual mental and verbal sparring. This was raw and physical, no need to think ahead or watch what was said in fear of slipping up. Instead, it was just their bodies dancing together, tangling in the sheets, pulling and tugging, biting and sucking, the slick skin of one sliding over the other.

And during all this, the tight, coiling pressure between their thighs would grow, becoming almost painful, forcing one to fumble blindly to the others entrance, (it didn't matter who fucked who, just the end result), then the burning would rise, tying another tight knot deep inside where only want and need mattered, and taste and touch, the senses prevailed over rational thinking and right and wrong.

The sliding would continue, one pounding inside the other, something hot and thick stirring at the base of their erections as they grinded together, a thin sheen of sweat plastering the sheets to their lithe forms, groans and whimpers, silent screams and pleads for more making the boiling inside rise and grow, building up as the tightening continued and their fuzzy brains understood only want and need and _pleasure_.

After more furious pumping, the heat would find its way out, (a sticky liquid sprayed inside and outside, thick and even hotter than their skin), the knot inside them would come undone, un-spiraling at a dizzying rate in an explosion of white dotted with colours, their screams echoing each others, and their taunt exhausted muscles would turn to jelly forcing them to collapse in a heap of limbs and sweat, panting and giving half-hearted kisses until either they pulled apart and collapsed, or the lazy pecks would grow and turn to hungry, demanding nips, and the process would repeat itself.

It didn't matter where or when or who fucked who, all that mattered was the release, that beautiful something that made the game of pretend they played worth while.

Everyday Ryuuzaki was 'L' and Raito was 'Kira', they both knew that, knew this was a dangerous game to play where smarts were the weapon, life was the goal, and death was the penalty.

But when they fucked, (there really was no other way to say it, 'lovemaking' was inaccurate, for there was no love), it was just bodies, just skin. But this was the closets either of them had come to it – 'love'. What ever was shown here, in the darkness of the bedroom, and emotion not quite love and not quite hate, but nothing in between. It probably wasn't even _real_, just another thing in the long list of pretend, (which was just a nice word for lie. Lie, lie, _lie_).

"Let's pretend."  
"Pretend?"  
"Yeah, I'm not Raito, not Kira, not anybody, and neither are you."

That was how it started, and that was how it'd end, in a sick little game of pretend.

**Oh my god well wasn't that crap-tastic? Ah, oh well. The idea came when watching episode 25 (Spoiler for said episode, you've been warned) when Raito finally gets L killed, and he pretends to be all "oh no, my best friend is dead, Kira you bastard!" But when L is dying, he's got that damn little smirk on his face.**

**Damn you Kira! Why did you have to kill L?!? cries  
Oh well, review please!**


End file.
